


520. Fuel can take a minute to light

by SevlinRipley



Category: It - All Media Types, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: First Kiss, Flirting, Food, Homework, M/M, Pillow Fights, Playing Footsie, Pre-Slash, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 12:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: Prompt: Ryers pillow fight





	520. Fuel can take a minute to light

Joyce is by far Richie's favorite adult to ever have existed. And it's not just because she managed to raise his single most favorite human being, either. It's also because she lets Will and Richie take over the whole living room when Richie stays over. Has already stripped the closets bare of extra pillows and blankets, and piled them high on the coffee table by the time he and Will arrive home from school, noses bitten red in the frost of incoming winter.

The house smells of oranges and chocolate, as she simmers the flavor of orange peels into the chocolate mixture on top of the stove.

The fact that it's her day off and she's still letting Richie come over and interrupt any kind of routine she might have, to unwind from a week full of work, makes his heart warm before he's even swallowing down a mug of that hot chocolate she mixed up for the three of them.

"Now I want you _both_ to do your homework, before anything else, you understand me?" she asks, pointing a finger at them. Her face is serious. Sort of. But Richie finds it impossible to be intimidated by her. He knows - well, he's heard - from the Chief that she can get scary, but it's only when her family's in danger and people are trying to bullshit her. Neither of which are the case, currently. Still, Richie's happy to comply with her rules because he thinks she's fantastic.

And it'll give him an excuse to play footsie with Will under the table, books stretched open across the dark resin-stained wood.

Will looks up at his mother, half-tempted to roll his eyes around his smile, and Richie nods his head for the both of them. "Good boys," Joyce says, smoothing Will's hair back before she takes a step back, toward the living room. "I'm gonna take a bath, and then I'll make dinner. Okay?"

She grabs her own mug of hot cocoa from the counter to take with her, and is walking away as Richie calls out after her, "We can make dinner!" Because he wants to impress her, but also because he doesn't think she should have to slave over the stove anymore for the rest of the night. Not that Mac'n'Cheese is all that fancy. But at least it's something he knows he can make relatively well, and adding a dash of garlic powder usually puts a flare on it.

Glancing up from over his cup, Will smiles, with a single brow dipped low, like Richie's playing at something. Being a suck-up. It's amazing when Joyce turns the exact same look on him. Richie sucks in a breath, shoulders rising defensively. "Hey, I mean it! No strings attached! Any homework I don't get done before then, I'll totally do after. Will, too. _Right_ , Will?"

Will's mouth is puckered, holding back a laugh as he slowly turns to look at his mother, and then bites into his lip to keep the laugh out of his voice when he says, "Yeah, mom. Totally."

"Totally," Joyce repeats slowly, cheeks round, sitting higher up on her face in a smile, where soft and loving wrinkles spill out from the corners of her eyes. She turns her gaze to Richie, specifically, schooling her expression into something less mocking and says, "Thanks, sweetheart. I appreciate that." And laughs at the way Richie flushes, pleased at her gentle tones.

 

It doesn't take long to cook, so Richie keeps an eye on the clock and waits till it's 5:30 before he sets his pencil down.

He's actually been trying to focus, so that he won't have much work left for after dinner. Wanting to get the coffee table moved away from the middle of the floor, and set up a fort on the floor with Will. So they can get cozy for a movie.

Will has, for the most part, been accommodating of Richie's feet against his, giggles bubbling up from his chest smothered with his forearm as he leans over his book, nose practically pressed into the ink of the pages. Occasionally he sends a playful glare Richie's way, when Richie's kicks get a little too vigorous, jostling Will's pen where he's taking notes in preparation for a report. But overall, Operation: Footsie is a success, even occasionally amounting to gently linked ankles, socks warmly brushing between them, keeping the cold from the floor at bay.

The Byers house is not particularly well-insulated, and the floors can be bitingly cold if you're not wearing thick enough socks, or a pair of slippers. And Richie has not owned a pair of slippers since he was twelve, so it's best to keep his feet off of the floor altogether. Suspended with Will's, while they try to behave instead of devolving to doodling on the pages of their assignments.

Richie's fingers dig lightly into Will's scalp as he moves up from the kitchen table chair, and around to the stove. The dials look mostly the same compared to the oven he has at home, so he just has to find the ingredients and dishes.

Watching in quiet amusement, Will's pencil dangles out the side of his mouth, eyebrows raised in interest as Richie effectively opens every cupboard in the kitchen, even _after_ he discovered the little blue box of pasta, and the pot he needs to fill with water. Then comes some seasonings, which throws Will, a wooden spoon from the crock on the counter, a measuring cup for the milk, the butter, and a knife to cut it with.

"Want help?" Will finally asks, standing to come hover at Richie's back, reaching over his forearm for the pot, so he can take it to the sink.

He's so close that Richie can feel him even though they aren't touching, and his concentration breaks long enough that Will actually does get the pot out from under his nose. But Richie manages to take in a breath and blink everything away, so that he can say, "Ah, ah, ah... I got it. I don't have Mrs. Rockford, but I know she's a stickler for showing your work. You do your homework."

Richie knows that about Mrs. Rockford because Will's told him about a million times so far this school year.

Will isn't huge on math as it is, so an unenthusiastic, and highly demanding teacher from straight out of the crypt is enough to make him shirk his role as the easy-going, good boy. Richie _lives_ for the moments when Will gets so into venting about her that his fists ball up, and he can tell some not-so-nice, and maybe somewhat unfair, names sit at the tip of his tongue before he makes an active decision _not_ to tear his homework up into tiny little pieces, throw them into a sandwich baggie, and turn them in so she has to puzzle the pieces together if she likes work so damn much.

Those moments are right up there with the times Will's falling asleep on his shoulder in Science class, at their lab table, because of the very math homework he hates so much, keeping him up late the night before. Sure, Richie can't fucking breathe when this happens, and his mind cycles over and over and over again, with want.

Want to press a kiss to Will's head of soft, mousy-colored hair. Want to rub gentle circles into the back of his sweater vest. Want to lay his cheek against the crown of Will's head. While, really, he should be deliberating whether to wake Will with a soft, coo of a whisper so he doesn't get in trouble, or whether to let him get some shut-eye while Richie takes notes for the both of them. Which... is decidedly not, ever, the prime option, since Richie doesn't really _do_ note-taking. But for Will, he'd try. If he could get his mind to settle enough, anyway.

Will huffs, letting Richie take the pot from him, at the sink, as it begins filling with water. "I don't want to. I swear she gives us three times as many problems than any of the other teachers. How's that fair?"

Biting into his lip at the weight of lifting the pot out of the sink, and moving it over to the larger stove top burner, Richie's eyes crease in amusement as the chair squeaks when Will slumps back into it. "If that's even true, it's not fair." But Richie doesn't think it _is_ true. Depending on the complexity of the math, 15-30 problems is pretty standard, and Richie doesn't think he's ever seen Will with more than 18 problems to do. "You want help?"

At that, Will perks up, before his face quickly shifts to one of guilt. "No... You have your own homework to do. It's fine." He sighs, and then picks up his pencil, staring through the paper that sits in front of him as Richie smirks.

"I have to wait for the water to boil anyway," he says, coming to rest his arms over the back of Will's chair, dipping his head in close, over Will's shoulder. Will just barely turns his face toward Richie, eyes looking him over from the corners as Richie looks at the equation with white space beneath it.

In the end, Will's not sure Richie actually helped. He might've, technically, just _done_ the problem for Will. But not for lack of trying. Will was just too distracted by Richie's proximity to follow. Richie asked leading questions, trying to prompt Will to figure it out on his own, but all Will could do was blink at him, and then groan out a weak little, "I don't _know_ , Richie. Just forget it." Richie didn't just forget it though, as he smiled at Will, fond, before telling him what to write down.

"We're gonna have to figure out a way to actually get you to understand but for now," Richie says, rising with his hands on his hips, as the timer over the oven goes off, saying the water ought to have boiled by now, "For now, at least you can turn something in."

"Sorry," Will says, a small slit of a frown on his face, as Richie pours the pasta in.

"Don't be. I can actually get extra credit if I tutor you." Besides... It wasn't like Will didn't help him when Richie was about to flunk wood-working, damn near tempted to have an 'accident' with the table saw so that he could get an Incomplete, rather than a Failed on his record, due to extenuating circumstances. Will had stayed with him after school, as the teacher supervised, and helped Richie build a clock that actually fucking worked.

And the best part was, they each carved their initials into the underneath, and it sat on Richie's desk as a stark reminder, every day, of what an awesome friend Will was. Never mind that Richie had 'jokingly' carved '4ever' underneath their initials, too. Or the fact that he blushed every time he picked it up to look the letters over.

Will laughs at that, "You don't _need_ extra credit."

"No. But I _need_ you to pass this class so you can stop complaining about Mrs. Rockford," Richie says, teasing, as he pulls the colander out of a cupboard and drops it into the sink.

"Oh," Will says, soft. It barely catches Richie's ears, but it's quiet enough that it has his full attention before Will even gets his, "Sorry," out, looking down at his paper, with his cheeks all red.

And Richie's stomach drops. "Hey. Wait a damn second," he says, pushing himself off the Byer's kitchen counter, forward until he's crouching before Will, hand braced on the table. "That was a joke. And I thought we agreed that you never have to say sorry to me for _anything_."

Will used to be overly forthcoming with his apologies. They fell out of his mouth, sometimes, like 'sorry' was the only word he knew. Richie'd always just tried to assure him an apology wasn't warranted, gently elbowing him in the side and joking that if anyone should be saying sorry, it was probably more often Richie than not.

But when it got to be a _real_ habit: Will apologizing for things like sitting too-close to Richie, taking up his space, or laughing too-loud at Richie's jokes, or finding himself reluctant to leave Richie's room as the night grew darker, curfew approaching too fast - well Richie finally had to do _something_ about it.

Because Will was apologizing for things that Richie _loved_ about Will, and it kinda broke his heart. So he'd explained to Will that unless Richie asked for an apology, explicitly, Will never had to worry, and wouldn't Will offer him the same in return? Be honest with him when Will needed Richie to make up for something he'd said or done? They'd agreed.

Yet here he is, all over again, saying sorry for something that Richie actually looks forward to every time they study together.

Granted it was his fault, for kidding around, but...

He waits for Will to glance down at him, meeting his eyes, before he reiterates with, "I love that you hate her so much. _And_ math. I think it's fucking awesome, actually. In fact... Screw it! I'm _not_ gonna tutor you."

Will rolls his eyes, like that 'love' doesn't make any sense. But still, a sliver of a smile spreads over his face, that has Richie breaking out into a grin of his own. It tempts Will. That look, soft and sweet and simultaneously proud... It makes him want to place a palm over the top of Richie's head, and draw it into his lap so he can run his fingers through his mess of hair as a thank you. For the reassurance. For being okay with the fact that Will's unnecessarily harsh on someone who's technically just doing their job, and for being bad at something that Richie finds so easy.

Instead, he bites back the 'sorry' that wants to slip out, for breaking their agreement, and pointedly looks at the stove where the pot is threatening to boil over. "You should probably get that." When Richie scurries away and blows out across the bubbles to tame them, Will adds, "Also... Uh. Please don't make me re-take her class," saying, really, that he's grateful for the offer and very willing to take Richie up on it.

"Well, since you said please," Richie says, tossing a wink at Will from over his shoulder.

 

Joyce joins them at the table for dinner, when it's ready. Will gets her water poured for her, since he didn't actually help with the food portion. She's kind about Richie's work, 'mmm'ing exaggeratedly, and smiling in triumph when Richie ducks his head with a fake but oh-so-real, "Aw shucks, Mrs. Byers, you're makin' me blush."

 

As they finish pushing the last of the cushions to the floor, Richie gets a smug little curl to his lip as an idea sprouts in his mind. His hands grasp one of the smaller throw pillows now lining the foot of the couch, and he gauges Will's distance with a glance between his legs. Swiveling up at the hip, he turns and swings the pillow up into the air before crashing it right into Will's nearest arm and shoulder, a laugh already bubbling up in his chest.

Will, quick to catch on, lets out a small yip, and then lunges forward to grab a pillow he'd hauled in from his bed. Richie mistakenly allowed the small square of a throw pillow to slip from his hands, in order to get a longer-distance shot, and is completely unarmed as Will uses the length of his far superior pillow to knock first into Richie's arm, and then across his chest. It's easy enough, since they're surrounded, for Richie to grab at another, and then the fight really kicks off. Richie nearly loses his glasses twice, and once he's even able to feign being hit the wrong way to cause Will pause, but it becomes quite clear as soon as Richie's hurling another cushion Will's way, that it was nothing more than a trick.

At that point, Will forgoes fairness, and decides to win the battle, once and for all. He sweeps his pillow up into the air, and comes down hard on Richie's chest, as he kicks Richie's foot out from under him. Richie falls to the padded floor, landing on his palms as he moves to sit up, and re-balance his glasses, but Will's motions were already in place... It can't be stopped. He knows he's about to be pinned, and the only pillows within reach are the ones he's currently resting on, back pressing against the couch. "Shit," he whispers, already knowing he's lost.

Then Will's falling to his knees, thighs over the tops of Richie's, straddling his lap and pressing a pillow into Richie's chest as he leans in close and breathes, labored, smiling wide and bright, "I win."

Richie's already well on his way to a blush before Will's words make it to his ears, but Will's much slower to flush pink. It takes having the sound of their heaving breaths between them, and nothing else, for it to worm its way into Will's head what position he has Richie in, how close their faces are, and the way Richie's blinking at him, owlishly, from behind his thick lenses. Then he swallows thickly, and says a small, "Oh," of realization.

It's the kind of tone that Richie finds almost cruel. Because it's sweet and simple, yet somehow complex and deep and loaded, dark and bordering on hot all at the same time. Like, really, it could go either way and it's not fair. It's not fair that Will can just _make_ that kind of sound and get Richie's insides all twisted up, a throbbing in his temples and up his neck, and much much lower, all at once like that. With a single syllable.

"Will," Richie says, and it's quiet, whiny. "I -" he tries to think of a joke. About how it's too warm with Will so close, and that's why he probably looks like he has a fever; he _feels_ like he has a fever.

"Richie," Will says, interrupting. Seeing the way Richie's mouth hangs open, Will knows what to expect. Any other time, he'd let Richie fall into it, away from what's happening, because he finds it cute. But he doesn't want that right now. Not... not anymore. He's _tired_ of pretending like they haven't been in each other's pockets since they met, and tired of pretending it doesn't mean anything more than friendship. As great a friendship as it is. "What if - what if we kissed?"

Richie's jaw catches around words, and he chokes out a surprised, "Oh." Will swallows, waiting. He can't have read it wrong, Richie just needs to catch up. "What if we kissed? What does that mean? Like. Are you asking if the world will end? Or."

Shaking his head, Will leans a little closer even, hands perched on the pillow, elbows pressing in. "It wouldn't." End. It would be good. He knows it would. "I mean, you'd like it as much as I would, wouldn't you?"

Mouth gone dry, Richie shakily lifts his hands to Will's hips and holds him there. Searching Will's eyes, carefully. "More."

That's all Will has to hear before he's closing his eyes and pressing their mouths together. It's a short kiss, and he breathes out hot through his nose but doesn't pull immediately away. Just waits for Richie to press back in, and then he's slipping his hands up and around Richie's neck, settling in as Richie pulls him in closer, sandwiching the pillow between them. It's warm and soft, and a little uncomfy just because Richie's glasses are pressing into the bridge of Will's nose, but neither of them could possibly care in that moment.

The knees at the sides of Richie's hips squeeze at him, and then Richie's petting at Will's back, and angling his head away to catch a breath. "Will," Richie breathes, slowly opening his eyes to meet Will's. There's still a question there. The world didn't end. But, now what? "Nice lips."

Will snorts out a surprised laugh, and tucks the side of his head against Richie's, feeling full and warm as Richie's arms encircle him tighter. Glad the tension has broken. After the laugh is out of his system, Will sighs happily, then says softly, "Thanks, I bought them for you."

" _Aw_ , that's so sweet. Hope you got a good deal on them. Multi-functional items can be a pretty penny. Especially ones that get you of-"

Richie breaks down into a laugh as Will sits back, smirk on his mouth and wide eyes, and shoves the pillow roughly into his chest. "I said I got the _lips_ for you, not the mouth."

"Hey, I can still work with that."

An indignant huff later, Will's kissing Richie again, then mumbling against his cheek, "Let's see what kind of grade I get in math class... Then we can talk."

" _Oh_ , I'm _that_ kind of tutor, am I?"

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I had most of this written ages ago, and only had to add a few paragraphs. Thank god that finally happened.
> 
> Title from Gabriella Cilmi's "Got No Place To Go"


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